


Baby Boy

by Not_You



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action Figures, Aftercare, Age Play, Angst, Awkwardness, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Battle of New York (Marvel), Bottom Clint Barton, Breakfast, Butt Plugs, Clint Needs a Hug, Condoms, Coulson Lives, Crying During Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Feelings, Finger Sucking, First Dates, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Insecure Phil, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Pacifiers, Reunions, Sex Toys, Sharing a Bed, Stuffed Toys, adults using their words, clint gets a hug from his loving daddy, cock nursing, vietnamese food is delicious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 20,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is well aware that with some kinks, wanting to be on top is way more socially suspect than the opposite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It comes out before Phil can stop it. Clint just so sweet under him, making high, breathless little noises as Phil fucks him fast and deep, those big blue eyes wide with surprised pleasure. Phil is cradling the back of Clint's head in one hand, holding him close and it's so good that he can't help himself. "Call me daddy," he breathes, and cringes inside immediately as Clint blinks, glassy eyes clearing. Phil slows and then stops as Clint puts a hand to his chest, pushing him away. It's not violent, at least.

"What?" He doesn't sound disgusted so much a incredulous. The disgust will probably come later.

Twenty years ago Phil would have snarled, "Did I stutter?" Now he sighs, pulling out and carefully removing the condom, knotting it up and tossing it into the trash can. He would suddenly rather be anywhere but this shitty hotel room in New Mexico. "I think you heard me," is what he actually says, and Clint smiles, tight and unhappy. 

"Yeah, I guess I did." He's staring at Phil as though he has suddenly transformed into something so gruesome that he can't look away. Phil does his best not to squirm. "I... uh, look. I've never really," he makes a vague gesture that Phil assumes is meant to indicate the sudden and all-consuming awkwardness that has rolled in like river fog, "and I don't exactly..."

"Don't." Phil holds up a hand. "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. I'm sorry." At least there are two beds.

"Okay," Clint says, and does absolutely nothing to keep Phil from getting up, collecting his clothes, and going to the other bed. His bad knee is aching and it makes him feel old and used up and worthless as he curls up under the scratchy and garish bedspread, blue-balled and embarrassed enough to fucking die. He can feel Clint watching him for a long, long time, and they both wake up feeling hungover and unable to meet each other's eyes. They get coffee and road breakfast and don't talk, blasting down the featureless desert highway at about seventy. Phil usually drives, and is disgracefully glad of it now. Clint is just staring out the window at nothing (or everything, Phil is starting to suspect that Clint has a higher flicker-fusion rate than other people) and the only sound in the car is the quiet purring of a well-maintained engine. Clint breaks first.

"Jesus fucking Christ, turn on the fucking radio," he mumbles around a doughnut, and Phil obliges him. Of course the lyrics, 'let me be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine' assault their ears and their sensibilities in the second before Phil changes it over to something else, anything else (except maybe 'Cherokee Louise,') breathing a sigh of relief when he hits 'Lodi.' Everbody doesn't like something, but he's never met anyone who actually hates Creedence, and Clint is no exception. He's singing along by the second verse, and a knot of tension inside Phil loosens.

The day is uneventful, because God hates guys like them. Any time Phil could actually use an alien invasion or a sinkhole full of pissed off lizardmen or some dickhead's out of control robots, it never happens. Everything outside of their speed is so still. Blank land under the cloudless sky, without even a vulture. It feels like they're never going to get anywhere, no matter how fast they go.

Further proof of divine disfavor comes that night, when a storm strands them in a small town in the middle of a convention. Phil isn't even surprised when the only vacancy they can find is a single room. Two beds, at least. Phil would have paid out of pocket for his own room, but there's no helping it now. They sweep the place like the professionals they are, and then Clint claims the bathroom while Phil carefully removes his suit, claiming the bed by the window. He leaves his boxers and undershirt on, and settles on the bed with his laptop, trying not to think of anything but work. He doesn't look up as Clint rattles around, making his own preparations for the night. He knows Clint's movements almost as well as he knows his own, and can tell from the sound of the motion on the sheets that Clint has curled into a tight ball, a position he only assumes when something is bothering him.

"Hey, Coulson?" Clint murmurs at last.

Phil forces himself to look up and meet Clint's eyes. He's sitting up in the other bed, wearing a black t-shirt and hugging his knees. "Yes?"

"About last night..."

Phil waits, but Clint really doesn't seem to have any idea what to say. "Yes, Clint?"

"Uh, what the hell was that?"

"It was me whipping out the kinky shit without consulting you."

"So, no eight-year-olds?"

"Never." Phil sighs. "I like the vulnerability of an adult acting childlike. The vulnerability of actual children is not sexy."

"Okay, good." Clint still looks confused and disturbed, and Phil shuts his laptop. "Oh shit," Clint says, "here we go. Feelings."

Phil smiles. "Well, I do feel feelings about you, Clint."

"Yeah, I didn't figure you slept with all your assets."

"Good guess."

"...Can we maybe try fucking again without any weird shit?"

Phil's heart leaps. "Of course we can."


	2. Chapter 2

Clint rides Phil this time, and he doesn't even try to pretend that it's not a control thing. Not that Clint has ever been particularly dominant in bed, but now he sets the pace. It's good to have Phil inside him again, thick but not too thick, long but not too long. He wonders if making the Goldilocks joke the first time had put Phil into a daddyish frame of mind and holds back a laugh that turns into a gasp as Phil rocks up into him, gripping his hips to hold him down on it.

"Aw, _fuck_ ," Clint breathes, shifting just a little from side to side to really feel him, catching his lower lip between his teeth. He's sitting up ramrod straight, and runs his hands up over his chest, pinching his own nipples and moaning as Phil guides him up and almost off his cock and then back down, hands sliding up to his waist and then to his shoulders to drag him down and kiss him, deep and hungry like they're real people who have a relationship or something. Clint can't help but melt into it because Phil is so fucking gentle, and soon Phil has him on his back again, holding him the same way he did the first time. He doesn't say anything, though. He just kisses Clint and fucks him deep and slow and so fucking good that for a second Clint is afraid that he's going to cry. That always weirds people out, and he lets out a strangled whimper, hiding his face in Phil's shoulder and whining that he's gonna come, legs gripping Phil's hips as tightly as they can, trying to hold him inside. Phil just kisses him again and touches his cock for the first time in a while.

"That's right, baby," Phil murmurs into his ear, "let go, I want to watch you come." And Clint isn't sure if 'baby' is a daddy thing or just the first pet name to come to mind, but then Phil is squeezing him and rubbing a devastating little circle right up under the head of his cock and Clint is coming harder than he has in months, sobbing out helpless, wordlike sounds. Phil kisses him and he can't even kiss back, too wrecked to do anything but cling to Phil and moan as he shudders and buries himself as deep as possible in Clint, hips bucking a last few times.

"Ffffuuuck," Clint murmurs at last, and Phil chuckles. "You fuck me like that, you don't get to talk about how fucking old you are. You fucking fuck."

"Be a dear and use your young, limber fingers to open my heart medication," Phil creaks, and Clint slaps his shoulder, knowing full well that Phil doesn't have any cardiac conditions. 'Yet,' as Phil says after every physical.

"Hey, at least you don't need Cialis." Phil snorts, and slowly pulls out, both of them hissing. He throws the condom away with the same neat series of gestures he used last time, and then turns to Clint, looking unsure. "Real men cuddle," Clint tells him, and Phil laughs, pulling him into his arms.

"Good." He kisses Clint's temple, and gets them both situated comfortably, Clint's head resting on his shoulder. He makes a soft noise of contentment, and hugs Phil, nuzzling close and just checking out for a few minutes, safe and warm. He doesn't feel like this often, and he savors it where he can find it.

Even so, it doesn't do to actually fall asleep. Clint opens his eyes in the mournful certainty that it's best for him to go back to his own bed. He doesn't want to, and that's a major sign that he should. He should also probably shower, and finally manages to drag himself away from Phil, kissing him softly and then bogarting the bathroom for a while because a long, hot shower is kind of imperative right now. By the time he gets out Phil is doing paperwork, and everything is just mind-bogglingly normal. Since there's no way to thank Phil for that without ruining it, Clint just tells him that the shower is free, crawling into his own bed and trying not to hug the pillow too obviously. Phil thanks him, and Clint mumbles some acknowledgement, closing his eyes and listening to the quiet sounds of Phil cleaning up and going back to bed. He does a little more work there because he's Phil, and then switches off his bedside lamp, the darkness interrupted by the orange glow of the streetlight outside, filtering in through the blinds. There's the shadow of a tree, too, and Clint stares up at it, more awake than he wants to be.

"Phil?" He asks quietly, knowing Phil is awake because his slow breathing isn't quite slow enough for sleep.

"Yes?"

"I can't sleep."

"Mm. Can I assist you in some way?"

"...I dunno." He ponders that for a long moment, then sits up and prowls over to the mini-bar, pulling out a tiny bottle of gin and downing it.

"Better?" Phil asks, expression solicitous in the pallid white light of the open fridge.

"Think so." He stands, shutting the door with his foot. "So. About feeling feelings." Phil has the decency to just shut up and let him grope for words for a long moment, and Clint is grateful. "...Fuck it, can I sleep with you?"

"Might as well be literal as well as figurative." He lifts the corner of the covers, a mute invitation for Clint to join him.


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently literally sleeping with people is a massive boundary for Clint. It is for anyone like them, really, but something changes when Clint wakes up in Phil's arms, all bleary-eyed and adorable. Phil smiles down at Clint and gently touches his lips. Clint opens for him, sucking Phil's fingertip into his mouth where he caresses it with his tongue and he coos quietly, eyes drifting shut again. Phil stares down at him, trying not to whimper. He's afraid of breaking whatever spell this is, but soon he's so hard it aches, and he can't help gently fucking Clint's mouth, pushing a second finger in and stroking over and over that soft tongue until Clint whines softly, opening his eyes.

"You're so fucking cute," Phil murmurs, kissing his cheek. Clint shivers, sucking on Phil's fingers for another long moment before sliding them out.

"Do we have time for me to suck you off?"

Phil checks, and yes, they do. He has long noticed a certain amount of oral fixation with Clint, a readiness to chew on things and a pretty serious hard candy habit. He has a great deal of experience in not thinking about what this may or may not mean for Clint's oral sex technique, and now can only stare down slack-jawed as Clint swallows him down with the same happy hum he makes at the first taste of something sugary after a long day. Phil drags in a long, shaky breath, hands cradling the back of Clint's head. He doesn't want to push, but he needs something to hold onto, groaning as Clint swallows and swallows around him.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, holding back so much praise for daddy's good boy that it makes his chest tight. Clint makes a little mewling noise and takes Phil to the base, lips pressed to the ring of the condom. He opens his eyes and gazes up at Phil, his expression dreamy and sweet. "So good," Phil mumbles, stroking Clint's short hair, moving with him when he pulls back a little to breathe, "so good." He trails one fingertip around the sensitive edge of Clint's ear, making him shiver and moan, sucking Phil deeper again. He savors it, taking his time and holding Phil's twitching cock deep in his throat as he finally comes, still gazing up with those wide eyes.

As soon as Phil can stop moaning and speak again, it takes everything in him not to tell Clint what a good boy he is. Instead he throws the condom away and grabs a fresh one, hauling Clint up onto the bed so he can return the favor. Clint moves easily, grinning as he sprawls out on his back, rock hard. Phil smiles back, settling between his legs and rolling the condom over him.

"I can't deep throat like you," Phil murmurs, running his tongue up along the underside before taking the head into his mouth and sucking gently for a long moment. "But I'll do my best," he says, pulling off for a moment before sliding down again. With an uncompromising gag reflex, Phil has learned how to make the most of his tongue and just the suggestion of his teeth against the latex. Clint clutches at the pillowcase with one hand, the other on the back of Phil's neck. He makes helpless little high-pitched noises, those powerful legs wrapping around Phil's waist and holding on tight, ankles locking over his tailbone. Phil sighs through his nose and slides his hands from Clint's knees up to his ass, squeezing the taut muscle as he goes. Clint trembles, and looks down with wide, dilated eyes as Phil kneads his ass.

"Hey, Phil?" Clint gasps, glancing around for the lube. 

Phil grabs it, sliding off enough to mumble around the head of Clint's cock. "Fingers?"

"Yeah. Please."

Phil slides back down and pushes one slick finger into Clint, humming around him and stroking him slow and deep, adding a second one when Clint starts to shake and whine in a way Phil already recognizes. He moans encouragingly around Clint's cock, taking it as deep as he can and holding it there as Clint's hips buck. It chokes him a little, but Phil doesn't mind. He just milks Clint through it until he's oversensitive and pushes Phil's head away. Phil looks up and then feels a simultaneous surge of lust and terror to see that Clint's eyes are full of tears.

"Clint?" He's still hoarse from sucking cock, but at least he's audible.

"I'm okay," Clint says, blushing and wiping at one eye. "It just happens sometimes. When it's really fucking good."

Phil smiles, crawling up beside Clint and pulling him into his arms. "Okay." It's way better than okay, but Phil isn't going to mention that right now. Instead he just kisses the tears away, tasting the salt and feeling Clint's heartbeat against his chest. Phil always budgets his time well, and he can afford to hold Clint for the twenty minutes or so it takes him to put himself back together. They both travel light and their bags are already packed, so they can both shower and arrive at the airport well within schedule.

"What's the point of being a secret agent if you have to fly coach with the rest of the puds?" Clint murmurs, and Phil sighs.

"If this were any kind of high-risk extraction, we wouldn't be. And if the Director wasn't so cheap."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, other than being stuck at Sea-Tac for three hours, how'd it go?" Natasha asks. She's stretched out on her couch, and Clint holds one dainty foot in his hands, painting her toenails a deep, iridescent green to match the dress she'll be wearing to some fucking gala that Clint mercifully does not have to go to.

He takes a deep breath. "Welll... I fucked Coulson."

"About damn time," Natasha says. "Is he out of your system?"

"...No."

"Didn't think it would work that way. How is he?"

"Amazing," Clint says, and he knows his ears are turning red. 

Natasha laughs softly. "Good."

"Kinky, though."

"How so?"

Clint trusts Natasha with his life, and therefore with most of his secrets. He's not sure about Phil's, though. But he has to talk to someone. He blows gently on Natasha's toes, setting her foot aside to take up the other one. "He asked me to call him daddy."

"Interesting," Natasha says, and Clint can see her filing that fact away.

"Interesting, huh? It kinda freaked me out, but not enough to not fuck him again."

"That's a start." Natasha wiggles her toes at him and he gets back to work. She understands about talking being easier for Clint when he has something to do with his hands. Taking meticulous care to keep all the polish on the nails, he slowly tells her how it was, how Phil is so gentle with him, and how he didn't freak out at the crying.

"He was so sweet to me. Even after I flat-out asked him if he was a pedophile."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "By this point, I can smell them. He isn't one."

"Yeah, I've been checking out this age-play shit, since that seems to be his thing. I mean, we're gonna talk about it like grownups, but he's Coulson, he's got shit to do."

Natasha nods. "You think you can get into it?"

"Long as he doesn't wanna punish me, probably."

"Doesn't sound like he does," Natasha says, and Clint keeps that in mind over the next few days of reading all the relevant articles, forum posts, and actual books that he can find. He imagines sucking on a pacifier while getting fucked and feels a mixture of embarrassment and slightly queasy lust. He wonders if Phil is just into being a daddy in bed or if he'll want to do some of this other roleplay stuff. Clint isn't sure about it, but he isn't sure about anything except that there will be no getting Phil out of his system.

At long last both he and Phil have the same day off, and Phil can come over to the fairly nice apartment Clint is currently staying in. At this point in Clint's life anywhere he hangs his hat is home, but this place has a really good shower and a particularly comfortable couch. Clint is stretched out on it and sifting through his various takeout menus when Phil knocks on the door. After making sure it's really him because Clint hasn't lived this long letting just anybody in, he offers Phil the menus.

"I was debating Thai and pizza, but I'm open to other options."

Pizza wins out in the end, and Clint is glad because this way they can eat on the couch and not have to stare across the table at each other. It makes it easier to talk.

"So," Clint says after a while of congenial silence, "I've been doing some reading."

"Oh?"

"About ageplay."

"Oh."

Clint rolls his eyes. "Yeah, 'oh.' I think I can do this and like it, but there's some shit I really don't wanna do."

"Everyone has limits, Clint. What are yours?"

"...No punishment. Nothing about me being worthless or weak or anything. Slutty is okay, as long as you say it like it's a good thing."

"I'm not particularly interested in punishment or verbal humiliation," Phil says, carefully wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. "When my partner is little, I like to take care of them. Praise them, reward them, spoil them a little." He smiles at Clint, and Clint can feel himself blushing badly because that actually sounds really good.

"Okay." He twists one of the napkins to shreds. "And at least to start with, no hitting. I... I kinda like it, normally. But with this it could really fuck me up." He is so not getting into his issues with his actual father right now. It's probably in some file Phil has read cover to cover anyway.

"I understand," Phil says softly. "And I only like to give spankings if my partner likes to take them." He smiles. "Hitting someone who's being little bothers me, otherwise."

"Okay," Clint whispers, chest strangely tight. He balls up the ruined napkin and throws it into the trash, landing dead center as always. He glances sidelong at Phil, and sees him smile.

"Anything else?" he asks softly.

"Uh... I've never really roleplayed? Like, if you wanna dress me up or whatever, I'm not sure how I'll take to it."

"While a kids's cartoon t-shirt can add a certain something, it's not necessary," Phil says. "And we definitely don't have to get complicated right at first."

Clint is blushing again, goddammit. "Okay," he says softly, and reaches for Phil, who responds by pulling him close and kissing him.


	5. Chapter 5

Phil is trying to keep his cool. As much as he wants to swarm over Clint with affection, he knows that things are still fragile. So he just kisses Clint for a long time, soft and slow, cradling his head in his hands and running the occasional gentle fingertip along the edges of his ears, making him shiver. The way Clint whimpers and leans into him is encouraging. Phil sighs, and then shivers as Clint climbs into his lap without breaking their kiss. The warm heaviness of him is like an echo of Phil's dreams, and he holds Clint tightly, helping him arrange his legs so he's straddling Phil comfortably. He's wearing tight jeans and Phil squeezes his ass, luxuriating in all that muscle under denim as Clint whines and hides his face in Phil's neck. He starts to rock a little, and whimpers when Phil encourages the movement.

"Oh..." The sound is small and lost, and Phil groans quietly, grinding up against Clint, who moans and sits up to press his ass down onto Phil's cock, tipping his head back and biting his lip. He's so beautiful Phil can hardly stand it, and he pushes Clint's shirt up, catching one little tan-pink nipple and sucking it with a gentle scrape of teeth. He's surprised at the way Clint cries out, high and strained and lost. He moves to the other side, and Clint moans, letting Phil pull his shirt the rest of the way off.

"Such a beautiful boy," he says softly, and Clint trembles, eyes wide and helpless.

"Daddy..."

Phil moans at the word and kisses him hungrily. "You know the traffic light system, baby?"

"Green means go," Clint says softly, squirming a little. "Yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

"So you say 'red' if you want Daddy to stop, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy." He's using a small voice that Phil has never heard, and there's something unbearably sweet about it, about deadly Clint trying so hard to be Phil's baby boy.

"Good boy," he says softly, and Clint blushes deep red. "Baby? You uncomfortable or just shy?" Phil asks, undoing the button of Clint's jeans.

"J-just shy, Daddy," Clint says, almost inaudible.

"So cute," Phil tells him, unzipping his fly and exposing grey boxer-briefs that are already damp with precome, barely covering Clint's hard cock. "And always so good for your daddy." Clint moans, shuddering and bucking into Phil's hand when he squeezes gently.

"Daddy, Daddy can we go to bed now?"

"Sure thing, baby." Phil has never been here before, but Clint hops up and leads the way, leaving his clothes on the floor by the couch. Phil watches his ass and the beautiful lines of his back as he follows along, almost hypnotized. He snaps out of it when they reach the bedroom, though. Phil has been to other apartments Clint has lived in, and is well aware of his hatred of the day-star when he's trying to sleep off his jet lag and of his predilection for nest-like beds, so he's not surprised to see the usual blackout curtains and pillow-mounded bed. Clint has been here for a long time, though, and there are more personal touches than Phil has ever seen. There are a few exhausted glowsticks hung up here and there, and actual posters. In the dim light it's hard to see what they are, and Phil loses all interest in finding out as he watches Clint crawl onto the bed. He follows and stretches out beside Clint in a nest of massive pillows and piled blankets, still wearing his socks, slacks, and shirt.

"Daddy, I wanna see you," Clint whines, snuggling up beside Phil and reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Phil smiles, and unbuttons it quickly, unable to help a laugh at the face Clint makes when he sees the undershirt.

"Sorry, honey. I'll fix it." Phil is as good as his word, and soon he's down to his own plain white briefs and Clint is all over him, climbing on top to rut against Phil's cock and to cover him in kisses and little sucking bites. Phil moans and basks in it for a while and then says, "Let's get you out of these, baby boy," tugging at Clint's underwear and smiling as Clint whines and struggles out of them, reaching for Phil. His cock is wet enough to drip now, all pink and slick and adorable, and Phil shivers, stroking it in one hand as he strips with the other. Clint clings to him, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder, mewling when Phil rolls him onto his back, ranging over him and looking around for condoms and lube.

"In the drawer," Clint says softly, and Phil pulls out the lube, trembling at the way Clint moans.

"Fuck me, Daddy," he whimpers, and Phil kisses him again, sliding one slick finger into him. Clint almost sucks it in, begging breathlessly for another and then for Phil's cock. His eyes are huge, pupils pooling wide, and the noise he makes when Phil finally gets a condom on and pushes into him will haunt him forever. It's high and sweet and satisfied. Pressed down into the softness of his nest and full of his daddy's cock, Clint cries out with each thrust, legs wrapping around Phil and holding him close.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint's eyes fill with tears as Phil fucks him deeper and deeper, and he gasps, "Green, Daddy!" so he won't stop.

"That's good, sweetheart," Phil murmurs, kissing him again. It's pretty sloppy, with Clint panting and whimpering as he sucks on Phil's tongue, tightening as hard as he can Phil's cock because he wants to make it good for his daddy. He tries to say so, but the words just come out as desperate noises and Phil fucks him harder and harder until Clint is coming all over himself with no one touching his cock. This has only happened a few times in his life, and his back bows as he wails, the sound quavering and breaking a bit as Phil keeps fucking him. He feels like a star exploding soundlessly in the depths of space, and clings to Phil even more desperately than before, nails digging into his back. He can't even think enough to wish they were barebacking so he could feel Phil all hot and wet inside him, and when he finally shudders and grunts and pushes so deep it hurts a little Clint holds him there, cooing.

After shuddering his way through his orgasm, Phil nuzzles Clint's ear, whispering praise into it, everything from what an amazing body Clint has to how sweet and obedient he is and how perfect he feels on Phil's cock, all hot and tight and soft. He shivers and whimpers, slow tears rolling down his face until Phil starts to kiss them away.

"So glad my baby boy trusts me with this," he mumbles against Clint's skin, "my brave boy." He moves across Clint's cheek to nibble and suck at the rim of his ear, and Clint whines, tilting his head into the touch.

"Daddy..." Clint whispers, pressing his face to the side of Phil's neck when he releases Clint's ear. He has no words for how he feels right now, but Phil seems to understand anyway, holding him tightly with one arm and tugging some of the piled blankets over them with the other. Clint sighs, and zones out the way he did in the hotel, practically purring as Phil rubs soothing circles on his back. This time he doesn't resist the feeling, just lets it sweep him under, all warm and lazy and safe. After a moment of just lying there with Phil, breath caught but nowhere near back to being his normal self, Clint grabs one of Phil's hands from its transitory resting place on his shoulder. Ever obliging, Phil just lets him move it, making a mostly-inaudible sound and shivering as Clint crams the first two fingers into his mouth and hums happily.

With something in his mouth Clint relaxes even more, making happy little whimpering noises in the back of his throat. He sucks on Phil's fingers, falling into time with his heartbeat and then sliding into a light doze. He doesn't come fully awake until Phil gently tugs his fingers free, apologizing softly and hushing Clint, giving him a corner of clean blanket to chew on. It isn't as good, but it's something, and Clint subsides. He would be miserable if Phil really went away, but he's just cleaning up, a constant and calming presence as he shuffles around the bed. He warns Clint when he's going to leave the room, and he always comes right back, first with Clint's clothes and then with a warm, wet rag. Just opening his legs to let Phil clean him up makes Clint feel like he's falling apart and that it's okay. Once Clint is clean and dry, Phil cuddles up to him again, gently pulling the blanket out and offering his fingers to Clint, who latches on immediately.

When Clint actually wakes up (or whatever, he's not sure if he was just asleep or not) embarrassment sets in immediately. He spits Phil's fingers out and sits up, stretching his arms and trying not to blush too much because holy shit. After a moment, he looks over at Phil.

"You good?"

Phil smiles dreamily up at him. "I'm good."

Clint has to smile back. He still feels restless, though, and leans down to kiss Phil deeply. "Thanks," he says softly when he pulls away. "For taking such good care of me." His voice cracks a little and he jumps up, pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms and charging out to the kitchen. He learned to cook out of necessity, and doesn't have that many dishes in his repertoire, but it's a good day for soup, and peeling potatoes gives him something to do. He nearly has enough when Phil comes out to join him. He has actually bothered to put his shirt back on, but has only fastened about three of the buttons, and his bare feet are pale against the rug. He makes sure to make enough noise not to surprise Clint when he hugs him from behind, arms around his waist, head on his shoulder. Clint's tense muscles ease a bit.

"What are you making?" Phil murmurs.

"Loaded potato soup. I'm not all that hungry, but it takes a while."

"Mm. We left the pizza out, didn't we?"

"It's in the fridge now, and we've both eaten worse."

"True." He kisses Clint's cheek and wanders to the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. "Mind if I take a beer?"

"Anything but my only Sapporo," Clint says, relieved to feel like an adult again.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil makes sure to be as affectionate as he can without crossing any of the boundaries Clint is putting back up, and leaves that evening hoping that it wasn't too much too fast. He's still thinking about it the next morning, and calls Clint as soon as he gets a chance.

"Barton," Clint mutters, sounding only half awake. Phil smiles, picturing him all curled up in his nest.

"Hey. It's Phil, I just thought I should check up on you."

"...Oh."

"I can call you back if you're not properly awake yet."

"I'm getting there. Take a long lunch and stop by?" There's a little pleading tone hidden within Clint's sleepy slur, and Phil promises to be there by one. He actually winds up being a little early, calling Clint again from the lobby. He says to come right up, and Phil goes. Clint greets him at the door, wearing sweatpants, a Green Arrow t-shirt, and a faintly sheepish expression.

"Hey, Phil."

"Hey," he says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him before pulling Clint into his arms. Clint is a bit tense, but then relaxes as Phil just holds him. "There you go," Phil murmurs, rubbing his back. This is maybe a little too daddyish of him, but he can't help himself. 

Clint sighs, going from relaxed to melted."I'm glad you called me," he murmurs. "I've read that the top is supposed to check in, but I wasn't sure if people actually did that."

"This person does," Phil says, a little more firmly than he means to. Clint shivers, and clings to him, hands full of Phil's jacket. He's probably wrinkling it all to hell, but that really doesn't matter right now.

"Okay," Clint says softly. "That's good." Phil ushers him over to the couch, and soon Clint is crawling into his lap. "Last night was fucking amazing," Clint says softly, "but it kind of scared me." Phil kisses his forehead and starts rubbing his back again because it seems to soothe him so much.

"I'm sorry about that, but glad that it wasn't all bad."

Clint shivers, pressing his face to the crook of Phil's neck. "Nowhere near all bad. What was scary was how much I liked it, and how fucking needy I was, and... and all that shit."

Phil shivers. "That's what made it so good for me," he says softly, and Clint whines, blushing and trying to hide his face even more than he already is.

"Fuck, Phil..."

"I love seeing you like that, and it's nothing to be ashamed or afraid of."

"Still weird," Clint mutters, sounding calmer.

"I'm just honored that you trust me to take care of you."

"Mushy bastard," Clint mutters, and for a long moment they just sit there, warm and comfortable together. Finally, Clint speaks again, still a bit muffled in Phil's shoulder. "So, this is your lunch break. I've still got some potato soup."

"That sounds good," Phil says, trying not to be too gentle. It feels cold when Clint isn't touching him anymore, but Phil is hungry and preparing the soup is clearly good for Clint''s peace of mind. "I do respect you as an adult, you know," Phil says, watching as Clint carefully adds a little broth to the soup .

Clint laughs. "That makes one of us."

"I'm serious, though," Phil says, chin in his hands and elbows on the kitchen table as he watches Clint stir. "This isn't... I don't think you're like a child who needs looking after, but I want to look after you anyway."

"...Thanks, man."

"You're welcome."

"Soup's hot enough." He pours it into a bowl, bringing it to Phil along with a spoon and a napkin. "I already had some," he says before Phil can ask, and just settles in with a drink to keep him company. The soup is amazing, and after devouring the first third or so of the bowl Phil remembers to tell Clint so. He just grins.

Phil has to get back to the office by half-past two, but he feels all right about leaving Clint, who has perked right up at the prospect of a 'real date like real people.' Phil is such a workaholic he had actually forgotten their complete lack of anything of the kind, but he'll be happy to go wherever Clint wants. Even if it's some divey bar that Phil is way too old for.

He says as much to Maria, who lets out of one of her rare and musical laughs. "It's about time you and Barton hooked up."

"Has it really been that obvious? Romanov says the same thing."

"I think it's only obvious to people who have to work with both of you," she says, passing him another form that needs his signature and signing one of her own. SHIELD's paperwork is a tangled mess, but there never seems to be an real way to reduce it. For all practical purposes Phil and Maria share an office, with all the forms that need attention from both of them. Phil groans, signing off on it and then leaning over to pluck a dead leaf off of the plant.

"Still, that's a little pathetic."

"Just a little. You'll get over it."


	8. Chapter 8

That night Clint ends up over at Natasha's place, drinking White Russians and spilling his guts over bad episodes of _The Twilight Zone_. He shuts up for the good ones, of course. He has some decency.

"You know," Natasha says at last, swirling her fouth drink in its glass, "I think this will actually be good for you."

"Seriously?"

"No one took care of you when you were an actual kid. You're due."

"Is this the voice of experience?" Clint says, as the unbearably heavy-handed message of _I Am The Night-- Color Me Black_ thumps along.

"Yes, actually." She smiles. "I don't need it all the time, but it's good for me all the same."

"...Oh wow, I thought you were just being cute when you called it a playdate with Hill."

"Nope."

"...Huh. Cool."

Natasha smiles. "So yeah, you do have someone your own age to talk to."

Clint squirms, feeling stupidly happy, and leans on his friend. "Awesome."

When the next bad episode comes up, Natasha mixes Clint another drink and tells him a bit about her playdates. How Hill is a tender and loving Mommy to Natasha, and about blanket sleepers for adults and special large pacifers and how nice it can be to be tenderly bathed and then settled on the couch to watch cartoons. "It's not always a sex thing," she says, "but it's not always not."

"Hn," Clint mumbles, draining his glass. "I still dunno how many props I want. And I'm still kinda scared of going little, because when I'm there I've got nothing."

"You don't need anything," Natasha says gently. "That's the point."

Clint shivers. "Oh."

She smiles, and rubs his head. "You're fuzzy. I shall keep you."

He laughs. "You know, you were maintaining pretty well until that happened."

"When I am drunk, I am drunk. I like to admit to it with good grace."

"Because you're a classy lady," Clint agrees, exerting effort to not slur.

He winds up sleeping over, in one side of Natasha's huge bed while she occupies the other. She's as gay as he is even if they weren't firmly encamped in each other's Friend Zones, so it's comfortable, both of them in t-shirts and underwear. Like most girls, Natasha has several that are too big for her, and the one Clint is borrowing is pink and has Tinkerbell on it. Silly but cozy and warm, just like being little. He murmurs that to Natasha, both of them close to sleep, and she smiles without opening her eyes.

"See? Nobody has seen you in that stupid shirt but me, and I understand."

"I guess you're right," Clint says softly, and drifts into a dream about being a tiny child at the zoo, holding the hand of a faceless man who makes him feel safe. Natasha is gone when he wakes up, and he's supposed to report back to the office today anyway. And tonight, he's taking Phil out to somewhere nice. Or as nice as Clint can stand, anyway. Being a top-grade asset he makes bank, but being aged-out foster care white trash, he's not really comfortable anywhere that requires a jacket. His favorite Vietnamese joint is a reasonable compromise, and it's kind of creepy how relieved he is when Phil sees the facade and smiles.

"Lotus flowers are lucky, apparently," Clint says. "The owner's daughter did the design." The slightly abstract flowers in their bright pink and gold had been what caught his eye in the first place. It's gaudy, but in a sweet, earnest way that's kind of beautiful. Clint pays the cabbie and gets the building door for Phil like a real gentleman. He's in torn jeans and a hoodie because it's that kind of place, and Phil has found an old leather jacket somewhere and is wearing an actual t-shirt even if he apparently doesn't even _own_ jeans. They fit right in, and are soon seated in one of the tiny booths, looking over the small menu. "They operate this place under the KISS principle," Clint says, and Phil smiles.

"Often a wise decision. What do you recommend?"

"Totally the pho. I get the plain beef one, but you can have meatballs and tripe if you want, and there's a chicken variant."

Phil actually winds up getting one of the rice dishes that Clint has never tried, as well as the salted limeade, on Clint's strong recommendation. "Seriously," he says, "it's like Gatorade but actually good."

After trying it, Phil agrees with him, and Clint reflects on how nice it is to be sitting here sharing a plate of summer rolls with Phil and hearing about his day. The paperwork is the usual fucked up mess, and Clint makes sympathetic noises as he snags the last roll.

"So yes," Phil says, "I've been spending my time productively. What about you?"

"Still resting up. I've got a stack of my own to deal with and Fury doesn't wanna hear me bitch."

Phil shakes his head. "You might as well get it over with, baby."

Clint tries not to blush. Later, when they stagger out the door with a sack of fried bananas, feeling bloated and utterly content, Phil slides an arm around his waist. "Your place or mine?"


	9. Chapter 9

It feels momentous to be bringing Clint home, and Phil does his best to ignore it, not sure what to do with the weird charge in the air. Unlike Clint's shifting apartments, Phil is actually a householder. He's more of an apartment type, but as things have gotten weirder and weirder, he has gotten his own place in the interests of civilian safety. He explains the situation to Clint as he unlocks the door. The yard is the size of a postage stamp and the exterior trim is a weird shade of pink, but there are compensations. The kitchen is commodious and comfortable, and there's a walk-in closet in the main bedroom for all of Phil's suits. The guestroom is full of Cap memorabilia, and Clint is kind enough to just pat Phil's shoulder and tell him that he's a sad bastard, with no further needling. As Phil closes the door, he smiles.

"Actually, it's cute."

"It is?"

"Especially all the duplicate action figures."

Phil blushes, because of course Clint had noticed that in a cursory glance. "...I admit it, I can't bear not to play with them _or_ not to have them mint in box."

"Seriously, that's adorable," Clint says, following him back down the stairs and then further down, to the daylight basement. From the first time he saw the house, Phil hasn't been able to keep from thinking what a good playroom it would make. He doesn't say so now, though, because Clint is towing him up the stairs and demanding his share of the fried banana. He devours it, getting sugar all over his face and generally being adorable. Phil eats at a less gluttonous pace, and learns all about Clint's opinion of cinematic archery, and how pretty much everything Legolas does is bullshit.

"Except for the thing where he stabs a dude in the eye with an arrow and then pulls it out and shoots it at another one. I've totally done that, but my arrows have titanium shafts. What's his fucking excuse?"

"Magic eleven wood?" Phil says, just to play devil's advocate. "Maybe it's mallorn or something."

"Like they'd make arrows out of mallorn."

"Oh, you've actually read it? I run into so many people who only know the Jackson movies."

"Yeah. Took me forever, but I managed."

"What about The Hobbit?"

"Haven't gotten around to it yet."

Phil pauses, toying with a chunk of crispy banana. "Maybe I can read it to you."

"...When I'm little?" Clint asks softly.

"Sure," Phil says, leaning over and kissing Clint's sugary cheek. "I'd like that."

After they finish dessert they're bloated all over again, and end up sprawled on Phil's couch, which is nowhere near as good as Clint's. Phil actually drops off for a while, and wakes up to the disagreeable sensation of not being covered in Clint. He makes a complaining noise and Clint laughs, coming over with two glasses of water.

"I was thirsty. Thought you might be too, you whiner."

"You cruelly abandoned me," Phil says, comically petulant, and takes a cup from Clint, downing half of the water in one gulp. "Thanks, though," he adds, and Clint laughs.

"You're welcome."

"Are you going to stay the night?" Phil asks as he finishes his water at a more sedate pace.

"Yeah, if you want me to."

"I want you to." Something in his gaze makes Clint go slightly pink, and Phil smiles.

Sufficiently hydrated they climb the stairs again, and Phil makes the bed while Clint uses one of the extra toothbrushes Phil keeps around. By the time Phil has completed his own evening ablutions, Clint is curled up in his bed, hugging a pillow and looking so cute he can hardly stand it. Phil switches off the light and climbs in beside Clint, finding him in the dark and pulling the pillow from his arms. Clint hugs Phil instead, wrapping his leg over Phil's hip and humming happily as he settles into place, miles of smooth skin and scars pressed up against Phil. He shivers, and kisses the top of Clint's head before starting to rub the same slow circles on his back.

"D-d-daddy?" Clint whispers, tensing a little.

"Yes, baby?" Phil murmurs.

"Are you really tired?"

"Not too tired to play with my baby boy, if that's what you're asking." Clearly it is, because Clint whines and starts to grind against Phil's thigh, mostly hard already. Phil shivers, and tips Clint's face up to kiss him on the mouth, deep and slow. Clint moans into his mouth, and then cries out softly when Phil reaches down to stroke Clint's cock, squeezing and rubbing gently. "Like that, sweetheart?" he asks softly, and Clint whispers a breathless affirmative, thrusting into Phil's grip faster and faster. An unhappy tone creeps into his breathy little cries, and for a moment Phil almost panics. And then he offers Clint his other hand, and Clint moans, sucking the middle two fingers into his mouth and clutching at Phil's hand as if he's afraid Phil will take it away from him.

"There you go," Phil murmurs, stroking Clint's tongue. "There's a good boy. Nice, isn't it? You look so pretty like this."

Clint sobs, coming all over Phil's hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Clint wakes up slowly, and nuzzles Phil's shoulder. He's still out like a light, and Clint blushes a little, remembering how Phil had just taken care of himself, cooing, "Yes, that's it, baby. Suck me," as Clint had just laid there and sucked on his fingers, eyes mostly shut but still watching. It had felt right at the time, and feels really lazy now. Still, Phil is smiling a little in his sleep and looks well-fucked, so Clint can't feel all that bad. He stays where he is, dozing a bit until he has to get up and take a leak. Phil wakes up when Clint pulls away, and Clint kisses him.

"I'll be back."

He returns quickly, and Phil pulls him down again, hugging him tightly and sighing happily. "Good morning."

"Same to you and more of it," Clint says, kissing his neck. They linger for a while, but turn out to be too hungry for even a morning quickie. Phil has several bathrobes, so they can each wrap up in one and go down to the kitchen where Phil makes pancakes and link sausage, and doesn't say a goddamn word when Clint covers his entire plate in maple syrup. In fact, just when Clint is starting to worry about hogging it all, Phil gets up and gets a second bottle. It's the good shit, too, made from real trees. Phil laughs when Clint says so, pouring them both coffee.

"Natural or nothing. I spurn fake maple syrup."

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of the lying," Clint says, cutting his pancakes into squares.

"Ever had birch syrup?" Phil asks, passing him a rounded blue mug that looks like it might have been made by hand. Clint hasn't, and this leads to an entire digression about favorite breakfast condiments, and a few of Clint's non-shitty childhood memories. A lot of them do involve the breakfast table, just him and Barney and Ma, Dad sleeping it off in the other room and in no position to give anyone any shit. He doesn't mention that part to Phil because it's such a fucking bring-down, but he does tell him about Ma's heart-shaped pancakes, and using bendy straws to blow bubbles in his milk.

That breakfast is a comfort to him on his next mission, serving as his happy place in a miserable cave in the goddamn Himalayas. Not that his guide Norbu wasn't good company and all, but after two weeks with just him and another week alone and living on MREs, he's about ready to kneel down and kiss American soil when the last of the many planes he has to take home lands. Phil is there to greet him, at least, and after a debriefing during which Clint almost loses his cool and gets written up again, he whisks Clint away to his house. Since Clint left his own fridge empty and doesn't keep so much as a plant, he's glad to dump his bags on Phil's floor and watch him cook. He makes, like, an actual meal, with a main dish and a starch and two vegetables, and tells Clint to wash his hands and sit at the table. Clint does it on autopilot, exhausted. Staring down at his plate, it almost seems to glow, some surrealistic art piece on the theme of nourishment. He eats everything and lets Phil serve him again, finishing that, too, before staggering off to pass out in Phil's bed.

When jet-lagged, Clint sleeps like the dead and does so for huge, slightly alarming stretches of time. He wakes up with a dry mouth and a full bladder and no idea what time of day the numbers on the clock mean. Phil is there, though, and smiles at him. "Good morning, baby. Feeling better?"

He is, but he's also still discombobulated and fucked up. That's his only excuse for what he actually says, which is, "I want feety pajamas."

"We can do that," Phil says, and Clint blushes, getting up and transforming himself back into a human being. By the time he gets out of the shower, he follows a promising food smell to the kitchen, where Phil is heating up leftovers. "Were you serious about the pajamas?" he asks, setting a warm plate in front of Clint.

"...I actually think I was. I've got a friend who does this shit, and she has some."

Phil smiles. "So I've got to get you the same as the other kids have, huh? I think I can manage that." He arranges a plate of his own and sits down with Clint. "I've actually been meaning to ask you about props."

"You mean kid clothes and toys and stuff?"

"I do."

Clint pauses, thinking about it. "I dunno."

"A pacifier, maybe?" Phil murmurs, and Clint blushes, staring down at his plate again.

"Yeah," he says softly, "maybe." He imagines Phil pushing one into his mouth and telling him not to fuss, and has to bite back a little whimper. "Uh." He bites his lip. "Actually, yes. I want one."

Phil beams at him like he's just done something really amazing. "Thanks for telling me so, honey."


	11. Chapter 11

Phil actually likes to shop. This has surprised a lot of people, which is odd because while Phil is conventionally masculine, he's also better-dressed than a lot of women. "Who do you think picks out these suits?" he had asked Sitwell once, and he chuckles at the memory as he clicks through one of the better adult baby supply websites. Clint doesn't seem to really want to be a baby, but this is a good place to look for pajamas and a pacifier. Unlike other sites that seem to assume that every baby is a sissy, there are designs here without lace, ribbons, _or_ glitter.

There are, however, animal designs, and Phil cannot resist them. He adds a regular set that's just light grey with little blue sharks on it to his wishlist because Clint will probably like it, and then a soft yellow one complete with hand mitts and beaked 'baby chick' hood. Clint will probably veto this one, but Phil can dream. In that spirit, he also adds a similar set in white with bunny detailing before moving on to the pacifiers. One plain white, looking more like a medical device than anything else, one each in baby blue and pastel pink. He passes on all the stupid 'funny' ones, with buckteeth and mustaches. Clint already feels silly enough. The bright purple one definitely goes on the list, as do a few others for Clint's future perusal.

Clint hasn't actually mentioned anything else by name, but Phil browses anyway. Rattles seem a bit young, but Clint might enjoy a teething ring, and a combination pillow/stuffed dog might come in handy... Time gets away from him and he's sleep-deprived at work the next day, but he doesn't mind.

That night, he asks Clint if he wants to look over the list, and he blushes, that bright pink that's like a signal flare for when he really wants something. They're having coffee in Clint's kitchen, and he stares down into his mug like it holds all the answers of the universe.

"I, uh... I think I'd like it if you picked the first ones."

"Oh?"

"Just... you know. Nothing stupid."

"Okay, baby," Phil says softly, and Clint's flush deepens as he takes a quick sip of coffee.

"Thank you, Daddy."

Permission given, Phil goes to a local toy store to get a few stuffed animals, and orders what is probably far too much of his wishlist online. Opening the boxes at home when they _finally_ arrive, he's a little embarrassed to realize that his hands are shaking. He and Clint have their first actual playdate tomorrow, and Clint will be little all afternoon. He manages to compartmentalize and get to sleep, but wakes up bright and early. He forces himself to knock out some more of the endless paperwork, but soon he's setting up the basement. The TV that came with the house is down there already, and Phil has finally hooked up the DVD player, a stack of cartoons next to it. Everything from Winnie the Pooh to Transformers, because he's not really sure what Clint will like. Once he's sure there are enough blankets and pillows for his baby boy to be comfortable, he lays out two sets of pajamas and two pacifiers, wanting to give Clint some choice without overwhelming him, and then goes upstairs to make sure he has plenty of snacks and treats for little Clint. Chocolate milk and baby carrots and organic cheese crackers shaped like bunnies and chicken nuggets, because Clint asked for them specifically. Phil has found some shaped like dinosaurs.

Clint is extremely punctual by nature, and Phil does his best not to obsessively watch the clock. It seems like an eternity before noon rolls around, but finally Clint calls to say that he's on his way. Phil does his best not to fuss, and just takes several deep breaths. They're not going to get straight into it. They're going to have a drink in the kitchen like grownups and talk about things first. Phil paces a little bit, but manages to answer the door like a normal person. Clint is standing on the doorstep, and grins at him. His eyes are so bright and he looks so truly _happy_ , even if it's a nervy, unsure happiness. Phil smiles back, and gently tugs him into the house, shutting the door behind him and pulling Clint into his arms to kiss him. Clint sighs and melts against Phil, shivering a little. Phil is starting to come to the terrible realization that his beautiful baby boy has not been kissed nearly enough in his life, and he feels a deep need to rectify that.

At last Clint pulls away, though. "Beer?"

"Beer," Phil agrees, and goes to the kitchen to open a cold one for each of them.

"So. Kinda feels like it's my birthday," Clint says, slowly rolling the bottle between his palms.

Phil laughs. "Good. So, what do you feel up for today?"

"...Well, I was figuring I'd test drive whatever you got for me, and then I could fool around with my daddy."


	12. Chapter 12

Clint can't pretend that the bunny suit doesn't fascinate him. There's a very deep and visceral urge to bury his face in the soft white fur, but Clint also doesn't want to mess it up. The grey set are less stainable and also have feet, and the sharks are cute. Phil folds the others up, and has Clint choose a pacifier before putting the rest away in what's probably supposed to be a broom closet. Clint takes the sharks into the bathroom and puts them on, trembling a little as he sheds his adult clothes. He avoids the mirror, not wanting to think about what he looks like. Instead he concentrates on the touch of the fabric, soft, fleecy, and new. He shivers happily as he buttons up the front, and comes out of the bathroom with his folded adult clothes in his hands. The denim of his jeans already feels rough and strange, and he's glad to hand the bundle off to Phil, who puts it away in the closet and then turns back to Clint, smiling softly.

"Hi, baby boy. How do you like your jammies?"

Clint giggles, half joy and half pure nerves. "Comfy."

Phil beams, and hugs him. "That's great." Clint sighs and relaxes into Phil, nuzzling the side of his neck. It feels good to just rest there for a while, breathing with Phil and feeling the cozy warmth of the pajamas and Phil's arms around him. But after a while, he needs to pull away. "I wanna explore, Daddy," he says softly, and Phil grins.

"Go ahead, sweetheart. This is your new playroom."

With that permission, Clint finds himself running around like a lunatic. There's room for that, because this really would make a good playroom for someone's kid. After running the whole perimeter and doing a few somersaults, he flops onto the floor in front of the couch, grinning up at Phil, who is looking very fond and just as amused, standing there with his hands in his pockets and watching Clint. Clint giggles again, and sits up, going to the couch to examine the stuffed animals. There are three of them, a pillow dog, a lamb, and a rabbit. He smiles, stroking their plush fur. The lamb is like the bunny pajamas, too white to mess up, but the pillow dog is squeezeable and also a pillow. Clint hugs it, burying his face in the black and tan plush.

"Found a new friend?" Phil asks, sitting on the couch.

"Yes, Daddy," Clint says, beaming. "His name is Flop."

"Descriptive," Phil says, studying the floppy dog. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it sounds stupid to Clint, but that feeling is dim and distant. Here and now he makes Flop wave one black forepaw, and Phil waves back. Clint beams and crawls into his lap, Flop tucked under one arm. "Want to watch cartoons?" Phil asks, and Clint has a vision of that, how nice it might be to watch 'Gargoyles' or something, just holding his toy and relaxing in Daddy's arms, maybe with the pacifier in his mouth. But right now he doesn't want to do that, and he shakes his head. "Oh?" Phil says, stroking his hair. "What would you like to do, then?"

"Kiss me, Daddy." Phil obeys instantly, and it's a real kiss, but still chaste. Just waiting for Clint to make it dirty, moaning softly as he sucks his daddy's tongue into his mouth and shifts to straddle him, half hard already. Phil groans happily, starting to rub those same circles on Clint's back. He's starting to wonder if he's being trained or something, because it makes his shoulders relax in a way few things do. He coos into Phil's mouth and starts to rub against one thigh. "Daddy," Clint whispers, "Daddy, I want more."

"Okay, baby," Phil says softly, and shifts Clint to the side, putting the pacifier in his mouth when Clint whines in complaint. "Just a moment, sweetheart. I promise." It does just take a moment, too. Clint sits there and sucks on the broad nipple, and the pressure of the plate on his lips feels weirdly right. He watches Phil shake out a folded blanket and lay it out on the floor, throwing down a few pillows, and then stretching out on it, reaching for Clint. Clint scrambles to join him, cuddling close and whimpering softly as Phil starts to undo his buttons. "Such a beautiful boy," he says softly. "I want to see all of you, honey."

Clint wiggles out of the pajamas, clutching Flop and mewling around the pacifier as Phil kisses his neck. "Daddy, Daddy, I want you inside me." He's rock hard now, hard enough to drip, and Phil wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing gently before moving back to cup his balls. "Oh..."

"Like that, baby boy?"

Clint nods, and tries to thrust against Phil's forearm, whining when he pulls away. The pacifier soothes him as he waits for Phil to get a condom on, and then it almost falls out of his mouth as he cries out as the first finger pushes into him. Phil opens him slowly and carefully, cooing praise, that he's such a good boy, opening up for his daddy like this, that Daddy loves his boy's tight little hole. Clint moans and writhes, sucking furiously on the pacifier and clinging to Flop, unable to spare even part of his mind for thinking about how silly he must look.


	13. Chapter 13

Phil can't help but think of the first time as he pushes into Clint, but this is so much better, because he doesn't have to hold anything back, and when he slides the pacifier out of Clint's mouth to kiss him, Clint wails, "Daddy!"

"God, so beautiful," Phil says, and kisses him deeply, grinding into him and setting up a gentle, rocking rhythm deep inside Clint. Phil hadn't even meant to really get into any kind of clothed/naked shenanigans, but he's still wearing everything, too focused on his boy to do more than get his cock out. Clint seems to like it, though, grabbing fistfuls of Phil's shirt and chewing on some of the fabric at his shoulder, the pacifier lying on the blanket beside them now. " That okay, baby?" Phil asks softly, grinding up into Clint as deep as he can. "You okay without your pacifier?"

Clint coos through his nose, a sweet, affirmative sound, and mumbles, "Yes, Daddy!"

"Good boy," Phil murmurs, and speeds up just a little. Quick, short, deep strokes like this make Clint squirm and whine in the most mind-breakingly adorable way, and Phil nudges his face up and kisses him again, moaning into his mouth as Clint tightens hard around him. Phil still feels a little spark of alarm when Clint's eyes fill with tears, but Clint whimpers that it's good, that Daddy feels so good inside him. He begs Phil not to stop, and Phil groans, rocking him with each thrust, long, rolling motions that make Clint mewl and wrap around Phil, his noises rising higher and higher until he wails and comes all over himself. Phil pauses, still hard and buried as deep in Clint as he can get, covering his face with kisses and wiping his tears away with one sleeve. "My sweet boy," he whispers, and Clint whines, mouth opening for the pacifier as Phil puts it back in.

"Want you to come, Daddy," he mumbles, and Phil groans.

"But I don't want it to hurt," he says softly, "and you're all tight now, baby boy." Clint clenches at his words, and Phil shudders, waiting for him to relax before carefully sliding out. Clint makes a little complaining noise, and Phil makes a mental note to ask him about buttplugs later. Now he strips off the condom and puts on another before settling with Clint's head in his lap, Flop helping to keep him comfortable. He spits out the pacifier and latches onto Phil's cock immediately, sucking a little too hard before he settles down, whimpering happily. Phil was already so close that it doesn't take long, and he groans and shudders as Clint takes him as deep as possible, throat milking his climax out of him. Phil wishes suddenly that they were fluid-bonded, so he could just let Clint nurse on his soft cock the way he seems to want to. Instead, Phil has to pull out to make sure Clint doesn't choke on the condom. He puts the pacifier back into Clint's complaining mouth, smiling down at him. "Sorry, baby boy. Daddy needs to clean up."

Clint sighs, but rolls onto his back, resting his head on Flop and sucking on the pacifier as he watches Phil go over to the bathroom and return with a towel. Phil smiles at him, using the warm, wet end to clean him up, and then drying him off with the other side and getting him back into his pajamas. "Comfortable, baby?" Clint nods, and Phil cleans himself up quickly and then settles in to cuddle him. For a long time they just lie there, and then Clint mumbles that he's hungry. Phil smiles. "You want to watch cartoons while I fix something, or come with me?"

On the assurance that it won't take very long, Clint settles on the couch with Flop in his arms, sucking on the pacifier as he watches Animaniacs, and Phil comes back down as soon as he can, to cuddle Clint on his lap for another episode while the food cooks. The beeping of the oven timer calls them up as the end credits roll, Phil sits Clint down at the kitchen table and sets a plate in front of him. There are tater tots and chicken nuggets, but Phil can't let his boy eat nothing but junk, so there's some roasted kale as well. Clint lets Phil take his pacifier to wash it, and makes a face at the kale.

"Daddy," he whines, "do I have to?"

"Yes, you do," Phil says, trying not to laugh, "but you can have whatever dip you want for your chicken."

"Barbecue sauce," Clint mutters, "and ketchup for the tater tots." He takes a huge, defiant bite of kale. And then pauses, adult palate tasting the olive oil and sea salt and the lack of overcooking. Phil gives him a small dish of each sauce and fixes his own plate, with more kale and fewer processed meat bits, and pours juice for both of them. Clint really is hungry, wolfing everything down and then cleaning his plate again when Phil serves him seconds. He washes his face and hands afterward and puts the pacifier back into his mouth, mumbling that he's sleepy now. Phil smiles, rinsing the dishes and leaving them for later so he can take Clint to bed and cuddle him.


	14. Chapter 14

Clint blinks awake in the lowering light of late afternoon, and spits the pacifier out. "Phil?"

"Right here," Phil says, hugging him. He's a warm, comforting weight behind Clint, and Clint sighs, hugging Flop. He doesn't feel totally little anymore, but he doesn't want to be a real grownup either.

"Can't believe I named him Flop," he mutters, and Phil chuckles.

"I think it's adorable."

"You would." He sighs, snuggling the pillow-dog. The plush is so sleek and soft, still new and perfect. Totally unlike anything Clint ever got to play with as an actual kid, and he can't help a weird little whimpering noise, hugging Flop tightly and burying his face in the soft fabric.

"You can keep being little if you want," Phil says softly, one hand rubbing a slow circle on Clint's chest. "It isn't very late at all."

"Okay, Daddy," Clint says, pulling his face out of Flop just enough to be heard before burying it again.

"Such a sweet baby boy," Phil murmurs, and Clint shivers. For a long time he just lets Phil hold him, but finally has to get up and take a leak. He keeps Flop with him as he does, and has him in the crook of one arm when he comes out of the bathroom again. Phil smiles, and takes Clint back to the basement to actually play with some of those duplicate action figures. There are of course about as many Captain Americas as the government actually wanted to make, but there are also some Buckys and several DC characters and a whole crew of battered old G.I. Joes. With a shortage of villains, Phil makes do, and a whole platoon of Cap defeats a dreadful sock monster as well as Flop, who agrees to pretend to be malicious, if it's just for a little while.

After they've exhausted the possibilities of the action figures, including a furious slapfight among the Captain Americas over which one is the real Cap (which of course culminates in the heart-warming realization that they all are) they settle on the couch again to watch 'Coraline." Clint promises that he won't get too scared as long as Daddy hugs him, and curls up in Phil's lap. He hasn't actually seen 'Coraline' before, but he has heard that it's pretty fucked up for a kids' movie. These reports turn out to be completely right, and because Clint is little, he hides his face in Phil's shoulder when the Other Mother leaps down at Coraline with absolutely zero shame. That bitch is fucking scary, but Phil holds him tight and Clint holds Flop tight and it's okay. Phil cuddles Clint all through the credits, and kisses his cheek as he ejects the disc.

"Not too scary?"

"Nope," Clint says, but doesn't let go of Flop, and Phil chuckles, rubbing his back.

"My brave boy." It's really stupid how much that means to Clint, but he just lets himself feel feelings and whimpers a little, somehow snuggling even closer to Phil. He wants so badly to be Daddy's good boy that it should scare the hell out of him, but instead he just feels safe, because Phil holds him like something that matters and Clint actually believes that he means every word of the soft litany of praise he's murmuring into his ear.

"Daddy," he coos, and shifts to get more comfortable, feeling Phil half-hard beneath him. He wiggles purposefully, and Phil chuckles, sounding breathless as his hands slide down to grip Clint's ass, making him buck his hips a little. "Please, Daddy?" he whispers, and Phil moans, kissing him hungrily and shaking when Clint sucks on his tongue. Soon they're on the blanket again, and Phil slides his hand into Clint's pajamas, pinching his nipples and just stroking his chest and sides for a while before moving down his belly to squeeze his cock, making him mewl and shiver.

"How do you want your Daddy, baby boy?" Phil breathes, and Clint moans, rolling onto his belly and hugging Flop tightly, looking over his shoulder at Phil, who smiles. "Okay, sweetheart," he says, and he arranges Clint so his elbows and his chest are on the blanket, his face buried in Flop. Phil peels off Clint's pajamas as he goes, and hovers over his nakedness to keep him from getting cold. Clint sighs and arches his back, crying out at the first touch of cold lube. "Sorry, baby," Phil murmurs, and it warms up quickly as he works two fingers into Clint. For a while he just strokes him, and Clint relaxes, legs spreading even more. He goes into a kind of hazy state, and opens his mouth for the pacifier when Phil offers it to him again, completely unselfconscious. Just as Clint wraps his lips around it, Phil pushes into him. Clint moans but manages to keep hold of the pacifier as Phil slides as deep as possible, and then he's just floating, hanging onto Flop and making muffled, helpless baby noises as Phil fucks him deep and slow, groaning with each thrust. This is just the kind of thing that's so embarrassing to even think about normally, but now there's no way he can get enough, and no way to hold anything back.


	15. Chapter 15

Clint is so tight that Phil is starting to worry that he might die of it. Best death ever, though. He savors his boy, rocking him and gasping soft words of praise. He doesn't reach around to touch Clint's cock until he's close to coming, and so they almost share one breathless, wracking convulsion, so good it's unbearable. Clint wails, and Phil lets out a dry sob, trembling with emotion and exertion until he tips over onto his side, taking Clint with him.

"Daddy," Clint coos, and hugs Flop to his chest, turning his head to nuzzle Phil's shoulder.

Phil can never get over having Clint so helpless and trusting in his arms, and he's glad that this time Clint is so zoned out that he lets Phil hold him for as long as he wants, making soft little noises around his pacifier. Sometimes Phil can't shut up after a scene, but now he just holds his boy, cuddling him close. Eventually Clint will have to come up again, and Phil hopes it isn't too much, since they've gone so far down today. He lets his boy have a short nap, and then kisses his cheek when those big blue eyes blink open.

"Come on, baby boy. Time to clean you up properly."

"Okay, Daddy," Clint mumbles, and gets up on wobbly legs, letting Phil lead him to the bathroom. He sits on the closed toilet as Phil runs warm water into the bathtub, and then helps Phil get him out of the pajamas. Still sucking on the pacifier, Clint settles into the water and coos. Phil smiles at him, and bathes him, softly telling him how good he has been for Daddy. Clint shivers happily, leaning into Phil's hands. He's still little by the time Phil has him dried off, but is willing to put on jeans and a t-shirt, and he sets the pacifier on the edge of the sink, yawning and stretching his arms. "Dinner?" he says, his voice still soft, but more adult now.

"Yeah," Phil says, and takes him upstairs. They have chocolate milk because chocolate milk is comforting, and after a more adult meal than lunch, Phil settles in to do paperwork, because for him it counts as a soothing activity. Clint sprawls at his feet and works on a coloring book that Phil bought on impulse and is now really glad to have. The pictures are good ones, of various mythological creatures, with a paragraph about each one. Phil doesn't see any point in something as uncreative as a coloring book if it's not going to be educational. Clint colors a western dragon and an eastern one, a chimera and a phoenix, humming quietly to himself. It's one of the most restful moments Phil has experienced in years.

"Clint?" Phil asks, finally breaking the warm near-silence.

"Mm?"

"Will you be all right here while I shower?"

"Yeah, Daddy," Clint says, glancing up with sparkling eyes. "I can babysit myself for a while." Phil kneels down to kiss Clint, and then goes off to finally clean himself up properly. He takes a long, hot shower, trusting Clint to know his own mood, and finally emerges pink and clean, wrapped in a towel. Clint has put away the crayons, and smiles at Phil from where he's stretched out on the floor, reading the copy of The Girl Who Risked All that Phil thought had been safely hidden between the couch cushions. He can't help grimacing, and Clint laughs at him.

"I figured out real early on how dirty these were," he says, marking his place and sitting up.

"It's not like I can read spy thrillers," Phil says, shrugging. He glances at his watch, surprised at how late it has gotten already. Part of the plan for today was a certain open-ended quality. "I need to get to bed." Clint is quiet, and Phil is surprised at how unsure of his welcome he suddenly looks. "Stay the night, sweetheart?" Phil asks, and Clint smiles, wide and sweet.

"Yeah."

He brings the book to bed with him, and curls around Phil from behind, reading the cheesiest parts aloud. Phil just closes his eyes and listens, murmuring, "You think this is bad, you should see the sequel."

"Well, if this silly bitch gets kidnapped _again_..."

"No, it's more about her sweet, virginal little sister who sits around doing nothing at all. I only read that one for the slutty maid, who would be a way more interesting heroine." He yawns, lazily reaching back to grip Clint's hip, enjoying the solidity of him. Clint flexes and makes a little purring sound that makes Phil smile. "Glad you're here," he murmurs, and Clint sighs, kissing his neck.

"Yeah, me too."

They'll need to actually talk properly in the morning, but for now Phil falls asleep to the comforting beat of Clint's heart against his back. This hasn't even been going on that long, but they already fit together perfectly, Clint's leg between his providing a nice support for his bad knee. They're still tangled up when Phil slides from drowsiness to dreams.

Phil wakes up in the morning thinking about whales, and doesn't know why. Clint is still with him, though, and nuzzles Phil's shoulder. "Breakfast?"

"I can make this happen for us," Phil promises. "Though there may not be any bacon."

"You're going to make me talk about feeling feelings and there's not any bacon? You can be a real bastard, Phil."

"A terrible monster," Phil agrees, and then turns in Clint's arms, making monster noises and chewing on his arm in a way that's much more ridiculous than sexual. A surprised, beautiful laugh bursts out of Clint, and they tussle until they nearly fall out of bed.


	16. Chapter 16

It turns out that there is bacon, and Clint is glad to have it on hand as Phil insists on asking him about his feelings. About the pacifier and sex in his little space, and the non-sex things, like playing and having dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for lunch.

"Phil," he finally says, "what the hell are you worried about? I know you want my feedback, but you know I love fucking you."

Phil actually blushes, making everything ever totally worth it. "I just don't want to push you. Some people don't like sex, or too much of it, when they're little."

Clint laughs. "The non-sexual stuff is weirder to me." He looks down at his plate, messing around with his silverware. "It's like... like I know how stupid I look, but I don't care. Like naming the fuckin' dog Flop. What the hell was that?"

"That was you being adorable," Phil says softly, and Clint leans over to give him a kiss that tastes like orange juice.

"It's just really weird to have someone like something about me that isn't useful." He isn't really sure what to call the expression that flickers over Phil's face, but it looks painful, and he reaches for Clint, scooting his chair close enough so he can pull Clint into his arms.

"It's not about useful, because you're a person and not a weapon." He sounds so fucking guilty that it actually makes Clint laugh.

"Hey," he says gently, stroking Phil's cheek and feeling privileged to touch the scratchy new stubble there, " _you've_ never made me feel like that. It's okay."

"Okay," Phil mumbles, hiding his face in Clint's shoulder.

"What, is this top-drop?" Clint asks, somewhere between concern and amusement.

"Maybe a little," Phil admits, and Clint hugs him and starts rubbing his back because it works so well when Phil does it.

"I"m supposed to tell you how awesome it was, right?"

"That can be helpful to hear, yes," Phil says, and Clint chuckles.

"It was fucking awesome. You kept me from feeling too silly to have fun, and you're an amazing lay, and you've always taken good care of me, so there."

"Thanks," Phil says softly, and he sounds better, like whatever queasy spasm of guilt was gripping him has been allayed.

"You're welcome, Daddy," Clint says, and kisses his cheek. Equilibrium restored, their finish breakfast and Clint helps clean up. He took his bike over so he doesn't have to catch a ride to work with Phil, which would just be too fucking obvious. Even so, Natasha always knows everything, and as Clint is wrestling with his massive backlog of forms and reports she comes in with coffee. Part of 'everything' is Clint's caffeine schedule, and he is deeply grateful for it. Today he thanks Natasha profusely, and gestures for her to find a place to be. Clint's office has never not been a mess, particularly since it's a glorified supply closet, half the space taken up by hard copies of the various forms, and toner and Wite-Out and all that other shit. Now Natasha perches on the corner of the desk like a cat, smirking down at Clint's terrible handwriting.

"I have come to relieve your suffering, but I'm also here to talk shop if you want."

For a moment he's confused, because he and Natasha talk about the best ways to watch and/or kill people all the time, and then he blushes, realizing what she's actually talking about. "Things did get pretty crazy. In a good way."

"Oh?"

"So I have feety pajamas now. Stuffed animals, too."

Natasha grins. "I'll bet you look adorable in them."

Clint just shrugs. "I guess Phil thinks so." He fills in a few more blanks, cursing as he has to cross one out and redo it. "We did some actual kid stuff, too. Like playing with action figures and watching 'Coraline. And then we were responsible adults at breakfast and talked about feelings and all that gay shit."

"The most important gay shit," Natasha agrees, sipping her coffee. "Since you're not sex-only after all, would you like to play with me sometime? Like actual children."

Clint stares at her for a moment, always amazed by her fearlessness. "...Yeah," he forces himself to say after a pause that's too long, "I'd like that."

Natasha smiles softly, and leans down to give him a sisterly kiss on the cheek before hopping off the desk. "I'll mention it to Maria."

"Okay," Clint says, struggling to find his normal voice again. 

Natasha smiles at him. "Drink your coffee. Get out of this windowless hellhole."

He rolls his eyes. "That was the plan, yeah. Join me on the range whenever I can get there?"

"Sure." She goes out again, and Clint is left to fight all the various piles of things for as long as he can stand it. He's not claustrophobic enough to demand to be placed elsewhere, but he has always hated his office. He's as glad to escape it as he used to be to get out of school for the summer, and runs down to the range just to burn off the extra energy.


	17. Chapter 17

Phil and Maria have had a lot of strange conversations in their time, and have bonded under fire, so this discussion isn't as awkward as it could be. Maria hasn't been forced into a house the way Phil has, and the view of the city from her apartment's huge windows really is beautiful. They sit on her sleek ultramodern couch and drink the green tea Maria favors over coffee.

"It's been a long time since we did anything fun together, isn't it?" she asks, and Phil chuckles.

"I don't know, traumatizing the baby agents on the urban fighting obstacle course was fun."

She laughs. "Outside of work, I mean."

"In that case, it _has_ been too long."

"You know I didn't know about you? I had a few suspicions, but I couldn't be sure." She sips her tea and Phil smiles.

"Thanks. I only knew about you because I had to know where Natasha was disappearing to."

"That early on, huh?"

"I take the welfare of my agents seriously," he says, shrugging, and Maria laughs.

"I take good care of her, of course."

"Of course."

"So what age does Barton play?"

Phil has pondered this at length, and has come to no firm conclusions. "He likes pacifiers but has never gone non-verbal, so maybe it all averages out to four or so?"

Maria nods. "Natasha is similar, so that should work out fine. Are we using your house? It seems more secure, for something like this."

"The basement does make a really good playroom," Phil agrees, and Maria smiles.

It takes them two weeks to find a day that all four of them have off, of course, but at last they do. In the meantime Phil and Clint have worked out their ground rules. Since Clint is gayer than a spring lamb and Phil is basically Maria's adopted brother, of course things are going to stay at first base or less when they're around each other. Phil and Maria will mostly just hang around and do paperwork and have grown-up conversation while their babies play with the various toys. Maria does punish Natasha sometimes, but they will do nothing of the kind around Clint, and everyone will use the traffic light system. Clint will be little when the others arrive, because he says he'll have an easier time being unselfconscious that way. Natasha will change when she gets here, and Phil will not call her 'doll' or anything of the sort, since it has bad associations for her. Phil writes all of this down and reads and rereads the list, because it gives him a warm glow to know that everything is provided for.

The night before the playdate Clint comes in late, letting himself in with the extra key Phil gave him and creeping upstairs to crawl into Phil's bed like a half-tame cat. "Hey, boy," Phil murmurs, pulling Clint into his arms, a little surprised to feel him fully clothed.

"Figured I'd spend the night here, if you didn't mind," Clint murmurs, tucking his head under Phil's chin.

"You know I don't." He can feel thrumming tension all through Clint's body, and starts rubbing his back. "Something wrong, honey?"

"I'm just... kinda worried about tomorrow. Totally looking forward to it, but yeah. You know."

"I know. I'm nervous too, but it's going to be a good time. And if it's not, we can safeword and everything will be fine."

Clint nods, relaxing a little. "Yeah. You're right."

"Daddy knows best," Phil teases, and Clint laughs.

In the morning Phil makes a last check over the playroom, making sure that everything is out. Natasha will be bringing toys and props of her own, but Phil always tries to be a gracious host. He also checks to make sure that he has the cheese Maria likes, and some green tea. That done, he goes to check on Clint, who has been changing in the guestroom.

"You in here, baby boy?" Phil asks, opening the door. At first he doesn't see any sign of Clint, but then he catches sight of one grey foot poking out from behind one of the replica shields. "Feeling shy?' Phil comes closer, crouching near the shield.

"Yeah," Clint says softly.

"You don't have to come out if you don't want to, sweetheart." That statement hangs in the air for a moment, and then Clint does come out, pacifier in his mouth and Flop clutched tightly under one arm. Phil smiles, and hugs him when he crawls close enough. "There's my beautiful boy." He holds him for a while, and then leads him down to the kitchen for chocolate milk. Clint is still finishing a big glass when the doorbell rings. He makes a little noise of alarm, but doesn't choke. Phil strokes his hair. "It's okay, honey. It's Maria and Natasha."

"Okay," Clint whispers. He stays where he is while Phil goes to answer the door. Once he's certain that it really is Maria and Natasha, he lets them in. Maria is carrying a duffel bag of Natasha's baby things, and gives it to her along with a kiss as soon as the first greetings are exchanged. Phil points her to the bathroom, and leads Maria into the kitchen, where Clint is finishing his milk. Maria smiles softly.

"Aw, he's adorable. Hi, honey."

"Hi," Clint says softly, and then crams his pacifier back into his mouth, hugging Flop tightly. Maria's smile widens, but she doesn't laugh at Clint when he's feeling so shy, and Phil loves her for it. A light patter of footsteps makes Phil look up, and he beams to see Natasha running up to them, her whole face alight with joy. She's in her own set of pajamas, which are white and patterned with multicolored balloons.

"Clint! ClintClintClintClint!" She hugs him tightly, making his chair wobble dangerously for a moment before it stabilizes as he hugs back, Flop squished between them. It's probably the single most adorable thing Phil has ever seen in his life, and glancing over at Maria, he's pretty sure she feels the same.


	18. Chapter 18

Having Natasha over turns out to be _awesome_. Clint should have known it would be. First she has some chocolate milk, because that's only fair. And then Phil takes them down to the playroom, where they run around and wrestle, tumbling around with a gleeful abandon that's nothing like their usual sparring even at its most playful. They end up sprawled on the floor together, Natasha resting her head on Clint's belly.

"Will you two kids play quietly while Phil and I work?" Maria asks, and Clint nods.

"Yes, Mama!" Natasha chirps, and Maria smiles, dropping to her knees beside them to kiss Natasha's cheek.

"Good girl. We'll be right upstairs if you need us."

Natasha sits up and so does Clint, just in time to receive a kiss of his own. With Phil and Maria upstairs, Clint and Natasha immerse themselves in playing. Besides the action figures and Clint's stuffed animals, Natasha has brought her own teddy bear, a full-size doll, and some little plastic fairies. The fairies and the action figures fight at first, but eventually make peace and hold a dance to celebrate, their massive animal companions looking on. After that it's the animals's turn, along with Lucy, Natasha's doll. They go on a vast space adventure all around the playroom, battling monsters and discovering entire new planets. Natasha is so imaginative and so committed that Clint doesn't feel ridiculous at all, and it really is like being a kid again, spinning whole epic sagas out of nothing. After a while that gets kind of exhausting, though, and they settle down and just cuddle Lucy and Flop for a while. Clint lets Natasha hold Flop for a few minutes, and cradles Lucy in his arms, surprised as how pleasant it actually is. He likes Flop better, though, and is glad to get him back.

There's a box of crayons and paper down here, with two clipboards, and Clint and Natasha draw pictures for a while. Clint mostly just scribbles, more interested in the colors than any structure, but Natasha draws houses and flowers and horses and dogs and butterflies. She likes bright colors too, and Clint helps her mix some. By the time they get bored of drawing, it's been long enough that they're starting to get hungry and a little lonely, so they go upstairs, looking for Phil and Maria. As promised, they're working in the tiny living room, and seem very happy to be interrupted. Natasha hops onto the couch beside Maria before climbing into her lap, and Clint perches on the arm of Phil's chair, feeling safe and warm and loved when his daddy pulls him close and cuddles him.

"Hey, sweetheart. You hungry?"

"Yeah," Clint says, pulling his pacifier out of his handy kangaroo pocket and grimacing at the fuzz on it. Phil laughs and Natasha giggles as Maria tickles her, flopping onto her back on the couch, wiggling and flailing. Clint smiles at the sight and then follows Phil into the kitchen, where he washes the pacifier and puts it back into Clint's mouth, smiling softly.

"There, baby. You want to help me cook?"

Clint nods, and grabs a fistful of Phil's shirt, following him as he moves around the kitchen, and letting go to wash and poke the potatoes while Phil puts the roast in the oven. Even now it feels kind of dangerous to get used to real food prepared with love, but Clint forgets about that when Phil kisses his forehead and thanks him for doing a good job.

It feels like forever, waiting for the meat and potatoes to cook, and Clint sucks on his pacifier and tries not to whine. Phil smiles at him, and brings out cheese and crackers, calling Maria and Natasha in to have some. Natasha tells her mama all about their adventures in the playroom, and after devouring some crackers, runs down to the basement and comes back up with their drawings, which Phil and Maria admire until Phil has to get up and saute the spinach. Maria sets the table and soon they're having a goddamn family meal. It warms Clint's heart in the strangest and deepest of ways, and afterward he cuddles into his daddy's lap again. Maria offers to clean up so they can stay like that, and Natasha sits on the kitchen floor stacking cans. Once everything is straightened up (cans included,) they go back to the basement, this time with Maria and Phil, who commandeer the clipboards for their work and watch as Clint and Natasha chase each other around the room for a bit before settling in on the floor in front of the couch to demand cartoons.

"Nothing with scary parts," Clint adds, and Phil smiles softly.

"Okay, baby. Totoro all right?"

'My Neighbor Totoro' is just the thing for Clint's current mood, and Natasha agrees. While the movie plays she quietly tells Maria about their earlier games, and Clint chimes in when she forgets something. He has to pull out his pacifier to do it, resting his head on Phil's knee and hugging Flop, utterly content.


	19. Chapter 19

Natasha and Maria aren't staying the night, but the babies get sleepy and want to cuddle, and there is no way Phil or Maria can deny them. They end up on top of the covers in Phil's bed, two of the extra blankets he keeps for winter nights over all of them. Clint and Natasha are in the middle, of course, and Phil and Maria bracket them from the outside, half-dozing as they listen to the babies giggle and coo and suck on pacifiers, snuggled close and gripping fistfuls of each other's pajamas. They are adorable, and make the sweetest little noises as they nap together, warm and safe and loved.

"I want to a take a picture," Maria murmurs, stroking Natasha's hair, "but it's a hard limit for my baby. Understandably."

Phil nods. He hadn't even thought of asking Clint, knowing how definite his own negative would be if their positions were reversed. "We'll just have to be sure and refresh our memories as often as possible."

Maria chuckles, and Phil kisses the top of Clint's head, making him make a low, happy sound and snuggle deeper into the mattress. It's beautiful, and an hour later everyone wakes up very reluctantly. A nap at least helps to re-set Clint, even if that means he's shy again, taking out the pacifier and hiding his face in Phil's chest. Maria smiles, and hugs Natasha, soothing her as she fusses a bit.

"We'll do this again sometime, love," Maria coos, and Natasha sighs, sitting up and stretching.

"I know, Mama. I want to be little again when we get home, though."

Clint blushes and mumbles that he wishes he was as good as Natasha at controlling his mode of being, and hugs Flop tightly. Natasha smiles and rubs his short hair, thanking him for having her over to play, and then goes and changes into street clothes again. Clint doesn't want to be alone, and follows everyone to the door, holding onto Phil's hand for the last few farewells. Once Phil has seen his friends to their car, he shuts the door and turns to Clint, who looks shyly up at him.

"Can I get out of my pajamas but still be kinda little?" he asks, and Phil smiles, kissing his cheek.

"Of course you can, baby." He leads Clint back up to the bedroom, and soon they're skin to skin between the sheets, Clint making a soft noise of contentment. He's not clinging to Flop anymore, but the dog is close by, soft fur against Clint's back as he cuddles in against Phil's chest. "Such a sweet boy," Phil says softly, "and you were so good today."

Clint shivers. "Daddy..."

"Yes, baby?" He smiles down at Clint when he manages to pull his flushed face back enough to meet Phil's eyes.

"I want... God, Daddy, I want you so much." Phil sighs and leans in, running his tongue around the rim of Clint's ear to feel the way it makes him shiver. "Daddy..." Clint whimpers, and Phil rolls onto his back, pulling Clint with him to sprawl across his chest. Phil sucks and nibbles and licks gently, and Clint moans, grinding along his thigh. Phil sighs and cups the back of Clint's head with one hand, the other rubbing his back. "Ohh, oh, _Daddy_ ," Clint whines, eyes filling with tears, "Daddy, you feel so good!"

Phil shudders and groans, kissing his boy hungrily before murmuring, "Perfect, you're fucking perfect, baby boy." He kisses up Clint's tears, moaning softly at the taste of salt. "So beautiful." His voice cracks a little, because what he wants to say is that he loves Clint, but he shouldn't say it here and now. He kisses him again instead, pressing up against him. "Do you need more, sweetheart?" he gasps, "Do you need more?"

"Yes! Please, please, Daddy!"

"Then get the slick, honey," he murmurs, and within seconds Clint is pressing the tube into his hand along with a condom. He scrambles to straddle Phil so eagerly that he chuckles, and Clint gives him a sheepish look, hard enough to drip. "I love how much you want me," Phil says says, and Clint blushes and squirms, eagerly posting up to let Phil reach for his hole, rubbing slick fingers over and over it until Clint sits back, taking two at once and moaning deep in his chest. It's fast after that, and kind of rough. That's how Clint wants it, riding Phil's cock with fierce concentration, sitting up straight to take him as deep as possible and biting his lip as he grinds down. By the end of it Phil is just along for the ride, moaning praise and encouragement, hands gripping and squeezing Clint's hips and thighs, feeling the taut desperation of him. They come in the same breath, making helpless and shattered sounds, clinging to each other as they shudder down to normal again. Clint sighs, nuzzling the hollow of Phil's throat and letting his daddy hold him for a long time before they force themselves to get up and clean up.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning Clint can't help but feel something a lot like keener and more personal post-holiday letdown, and Phil seems to sense it, providing coffee and a comforting presence as Clint adjusts to having to be his grownup self again. He figures it'll get easier over time, and Phil actually blushes when he says so.

"Phil?"

"I like the 'over time' part," he says softly, and Clint feels something twist in his chest.

"Good."

They don't get into the condom thing until a few days later, but Clint isn't surprised when Phil brings it up. He is far more than happy to trade bloodwork with Phil. He says so, straddling one of Phil's kitchen chairs and resting his elbows on the back. "Hell, Phil, I'm kind of a comeslut. Of _course_ I wanna bareback with you." There's something very pleasing about the sound Phil almost makes, and Clint grins at him. "You like that, huh?"

"...I may perhaps sometimes feel that a beautiful boy's face is improved by ejaculate, yes," Phil says very evenly, despite the pink flush that sweeps from his throat up to his scalp. 

Clint cackles. "So you're an artist after all, huh?"

Phil goes from pink to red, but he doesn't argue. Naturally, there's no rest for the wicked, so it isn't until a few days after they get their bloodwork back that they can actually take advantage of having no horrible diseases or chemical contaminations to give one another Clint tries not to seem too eager, but finds himself calling Phil first thing in the morning anyway.

"Hey. Can I come over?"

"Please," Phil says, sounding wide awake. "Should I feed you breakfast?"

"Yeah," Clint says, blushing and feeling stupid. "Uh... can it be a little breakfast?" For a moment he thinks Phil might just think Clint is saying that he's not very hungry, but the warm tone of his reply proves that he understands.

"Of course, baby."

Clint thanks him and hangs up, hastily making sure that he looks and smells all right before racing to Phil's house, where Phil greets him with a tight hug and a long kiss, before asking if Clint wants to change and what shape he would like his pancakes to be. "…Can you make stars?" Clint asks, blushing because it came out in his little voice.

"Sure, baby boy," Phil says softly, stroking Clint's hair and cupping the side of his face in one hand. "I'll get them started."

Clint kisses him softly, and then goes to the basement, getting his pajamas out of the closet and taking a deep breath to steady himself before he puts them on. The soft comfort of the fabric against his skin relaxes him enough to put his pacifer into his mouth. He stands there sucking on it for a moment, and then tucks Flop under his arm and goes upstairs. Phil is cooking breakfast, and he turns from the stove to smile at Clint.

"Hey, baby. Want to watch me make the pancakes?"

Clint nods, and stands beside Phil with one hand holding onto his shirt, the other arm wrapped around Flop. Phil carefully spoons the batter into the pan, making a chunky, five-pointed star. Clint watches in fascination as Phil keeps the edges neat and flips the whole thing as it starts to bubble. When a warm stack of three is done, so are the eggs and bacon, and Clint settles at the table with a glass of juice and happily devours his breakfast as Phil makes some for himself.

Despite the promise of barebacking, they take it slowly today. First they have breakfast, which Clint finishes in Phil's lap, letting his daddy tenderly feed him each bite. After that they go down to the playroom to color, which collapses eventually into a wild tickle-fight that leaves Clint flopping like a landed fish and weak with shrieky laughter. Phil is flushed and grinning down at him, arms bracketing Clint.

"Aren't you a sweet boy?" he coos, and Clint whimpers happily, wriggling and hugging Flop tight. He starts chewing on one of the floppy ears without thinking about it, and Phil smiles. "Want something to suck on, baby boy?" Clint nods, and whimpers happily as Phil gathers him into his arms, sitting up so Clint is in his lap. He's hard, and Clint blushes, most of the way there himself just from the closeness. Phil cuddles him for a long moment, and then hisses softly, easing himself out of his pants.

" _Daddy_..." Clint moans, and scrambles to take Phil into his mouth. It's so good to taste him like this that Clint groans, swallowing and swallowing until he can nuzzle into Phil's pubic hair and breathe in the scent of him, musky and hot and soothing. He feels safe here, fucking his mouth on his daddy's cock, those strong hands on his head not pushing him down but holding onto him, holding him here where he's safe and warm and Daddy's cock is so fucking good. And this time when Daddy moans and comes, Clint can swallow it all and keep sucking, soft and slow and gentle, like Daddy's soft, slick cock is a pacifier. He rests his head on Phil's thigh and sighs through his nose, humming softly.


	21. Chapter 21

After a bit Phil starts to get sore, but the pitiful noise Clint makes when he slides out of his mouth goes right to his heart. "Easy, baby," he says softly, and pulls a clean pacifier out of his pocket, pushing it into Clint's mouth. "There you go." He shivers, watching his baby boy suck the pacifier for a long, peaceful moment. "I have another toy for you, baby, if you want it."

"Mm?" Clint looks curious, blue eyes wide. Phil smiles and kisses his forehead before getting up and going to the closet, coming back with a plug and a packet of lube.

"I was thinking you might want to have this, too. Be full everywhere." Clint whines and squirms at that, rolling easily onto his belly and lifting his hips so Phil can tenderly finger him open and then push the plug in. It's big, and Clint moans as the widest part opens him up. Phil shudders and murmurs disjointed praise, rubbing Clint's back as the plug settles into place. "There you go, baby. Isn't that nice?"

"Yes, Daddy," Clint mumbles, barely intelligible around the pacifier. He's half hard now, urgent arousal having given way to suckling Phil to soothe himself, but his cock is filling again as Phil rolls him onto his back.

"Want Daddy to help you with that?" Clint nods, and Phil smiles. "You're a good boy, and you deserve a treat." Clint wriggles happily, hugging Flop to his chest, and Phil chuckles, kissing his forehead. He opens Clint's pajamas and sighs, lowering his head to really taste Clint for the first time, moaning softly. Clint whines and squirms under him, all that taut strength so helpless and silly and sweet. Phil sucks him slow and hard, with firm rolls of his tongue that make Clint whine and almost lose his grip on the pacifier. When he comes it's with a helpless, muffled cry that Phil will remember for the rest of his life. He licks Clint clean and covers him in kisses before tucking him back into his pajamas and holding him close for a long time.

Over the next few weeks, something inside Clint seems to give. He starts letting himself spend as much time being little as he actually wants, and actually brings out the yellow chick pajamas and lets Phil help him into them. Phil wishes intensely that he could carry Clint like a bride or a baby without ruining his back, but as it is he leads him by the hand, curling up on the couch and cuddling Clint as he whimpers and sucks his thumb. He had shyly mentioned maybe wanting to do that instead of having a pacifier, and now Phil kisses his cheek where it's working gently as he suckles. The yellow fuzz on the hood tickles his face and the tiny beginnings of stubble prickle at his lips, and Clint makes a happy sound, nuzzling into Phil's chest and just dozing there as Phil catches up on 'Cake Boss'. He also does a little paperwork with his free hand, pausing to give Clint full, two-armed hugs from time to time. Each one makes him let out a muffled little mewling noise that Phil is pretty sure he will never get enough of, and he smiles down when Clint looks up at him.

That afternoon is long and golden and he fucks Clint into a sobbing mess and plugs him afterward. It's a slow process, because Clint insists on the biggest of the set Phil bought, and he wriggles and pants, yellow-lighting several times to catch his breath with high-pitched little gasps. He's on his knees, chest pressed to the floor as he clutches at Flop. All the while Phil holds the plug firmly in place, rubbing Clint's back and telling him what a good boy he is.

"It's not too much, is it, baby?" he asks, adding a little more lube and giving it a twist when Clint gives him the green light again.

Clint moans and pushes back on it, nearly to the widest point. "No, Daddy, please, please more!" One hand flies back to rest on Phil's hand, as if Clint is afraid he'll snatch the plug out altogether.

Phil shudders, and takes a deep breath, gripping the back of Clint's neck and actually pushing forward instead of holding still and letting Clint move back. For a moment it seems like Clint can't possibly open any wider, and he whines, the hard muscles in his thighs trembling. He makes formless little vowel sounds in his throat and groans and then the plug is being sucked in, easy as breathing. Phil moans, entranced by the sight as he helps the base settle into place and Clint moans continuously, crying out when Phil pushes on the base of the plug. He can just barely fuck Clint with the massive width of the toy, rocking it only about an inch and a half back and forth, but it must be enough because after a few endless minutes Clint comes, mewling about how big the plug is and how good it feels inside him.

"Please, Daddy," he whimpers, muffled in Flop's fur, "please push it deep."

Phil shudders and pushes the plug as deep as it will go, and Clint lets out a soft little squeal, quivering all over before melting completely onto the blanket. Phil covers his back with kisses, pressing a few to his ass and then to the back of his neck, adoring every part of his baby boy.


	22. Chapter 22

It's fucking embarrassing to get back from a mission and feel like this, but there's no way Clint can help it. Things had gone wrong and he had been scared and his target had brought up a lot of horrific memories, slapping his poor little killers around. Clint of all people knows how deadly children can be, but that doesn't make watching a bunch of child soldiers be terrorized and abused any easier for him. He stays long after he takes the shot, just to be sure that SHIELD is seeing to their continued care.

When Clint finally does fly home at last, he feels numb. He's glad, because he knows that when the numb goes away he's probably gonna cry, and that that's gonna suck. A lot. He debriefs on autopilot and hides in his room, not taking any calls. Even when he knows that it's Phil. He feels way too sad and unclean to do anything fun, and while Phil isn't that kind of guy, Clint isn't sure he can handle being around anyone. He sleeps for a long time the way he always does, and has horrible dreams. Feeling wrung out and worse than ever, he finally checks his phone. He's somewhere between touched and appalled at how many are from Phil, just wanting to know if he's okay.

Clint takes a deep breath, and calls Phil back, not even knowing what time it is. "Hey, Phil," he tells the voicemail, "I am okay and I'm sorry I've been such a dick. Want me to come over tonight?"

He's not expecting a quick answer, but Phil texts him about ten minutes later to say that it's okay, and that he should definitely come over. That night Clint checks himself in the mirror again and again, even though he feels about as sexual as a rabbit smeared across the interstate and it really doesn't matter. He's anxious in a way that's hard to define. He's not afraid that Phil will dump him for not putting out. Well, not much. Not on any rational level, anyway. Maybe it's more about not wanting to disappoint him. Being unable to stomach putting out if Phil wants him to will be a bummer on that count, definitely.

When he gets to the house he lets himself in, and calls a codeword to Phil, to let him know that he hasn't just been using his key at gunpoint or anything. Phil yells back from the bathroom, and comes out in a robe, looking totally adorable the way he does when he takes off all his Agent Coulson stuff. "Hey," he says softly, and hugs Clint, warm and still slightly damp. 

Clint whimpers and clings to him. "Daddy..." He meant to be an adult and use his words, but right now he feels like he's falling apart. He may be crying, he doesn't know, he just knows that Phil is warm against him and is murmuring that it's all right, that Daddy will take care of his baby boy, that everything is all right and that Clint is safe here.

"Baby, do you want to go downstairs?" he asks, once Clint has caught his breath and dabbed away a few tears.

"Yeah, Daddy, but I don't want... I don't want...." He sputters, feeling like an idiot.

"Sweetheart, we never have to do anything you don't want." Phil kisses his forehead, and Clint relaxes. "Let's go downstairs, okay, baby?"

Clint nods, and lets Phil lead him. Once they get down there he can't seem to let go of Phil, and walks with him to the closet. And maybe it's because he doesn't want to run and play or anything, but tonight he wants the white pajamas. He says so, and Phil smiles. "Of course, baby. Here, let Daddy help you." Clint does let Daddy help him, and soon he's swathed in cozy white fuzz. He has never worn anything softer in his life, and takes a pacifier and the plush lamb when Phil offers them to him. He rubs his face in its fur, even softer than the pajamas, and lets Phil lead him to the couch, where he holds him and tells him what a good boy he is as Clint sucks on a pacifier. Clint sighs, relaxing and snuggling the lamb, feeling small and safe. He's not Hawkeye or even Clint Barton right now. He's Daddy's little baby bunny, and that's fucking ridiculous and stupid and wonderful, just like everything they do together down here.

After a while, Phil puts on one of the various kids' movies they have. Nothing scary at all, and Clint whimpers happily and cuddles even closer to his daddy, feeling safe and warm and loved. He falls asleep there, and has soothing dreams. A few times he comes up to a doze, and Phil is always still there, petting him. Finally Phil makes him get up, and Clint makes complaining noises around the pacifier.

"Hush, baby," Phil says softly, "it's time for us to go to bed. Unless you're hungry."

Clint nods, and so on the way to bed his daddy makes him a sandwich. That and a glass of milk makes Clint feel full enough to sleep, and soon he's cuddled up to Phil under the covers in his big bed, falling asleep again as easily as breathing.


	23. Chapter 23

Phil wakes up with a splitting headache and a deep sense that something is very, very wrong. He kicks SHIELD medics away and yells for Nick, trying to tell what his various IV lines are pumping with eyes that won't stay focused. Alarms are going off, but they shut up when Nick arrives. His good eye is full of tears, and Phil is both touched and terrified by that.

"Where's Clint?" he croaks, and Nick gives him a cup of water.

As Phil guzzles, Nick speaks. "Staying at Stark Tower, quietly under observation. It's been a week since the Chitauri attack and now that you're conscious, I'll let him know that you're alive."

"Bastard," Phil mumbles around the rim of the cup, and Nick growls.

"Damn it, Phil, you were dead! You were dead for six hours and until yesterday we weren't sure if we could really get your brain working again." He sighs. "Thought it'd be crueler if it didn't work."

"...Maybe," Phil admits, but he's still desperate to see Clint. He lets the medics run tests and prod him all over, but finally they're forced to give him a clean bill of health. SHIELD tech combined with what the scientific staff had been able to learn about Loki's spear and the magic within it have allowed his heart to almost completely re-grow, and have kept his brain nice and fresh. It's all incredible and strange and horrible and wonderful, but right now he needs Clint, and he'll probably get violent if he doesn't see him soon.

Lucky for Nick, he knows Phil, and the second the medics let go of him Clint comes staggering in, face almost paper-white. Phil's chest tightens and his eyes well up, and he stands and goes to Clint, pulling him into his arms. His chest is still a sore and miserable mess of bruises, but that's nothing, that's nothing at all and he holds Clint tight.

Everyone quietly leaves the room after a few moments, and after many more moments Phil manages to disengage enough to lead Clint over to the bed, so they can sit down on the edge of it and Clint can get back to clinging to Phil. They stay there for at least an hour, Clint crying quietly and Phil murmuring comfort to him.

The next week is a blur of telling people he's not dead and holding onto Clint. After the week is out, the holding is still important, but Phil also starts dragging Clint to the therapy he so desperately needs and had been refusing. With Phil back from the dead and pleading with him, he's willing to go, even if Phil has to attend the first few sessions because Clint doesn't want to let him out of his sight. Phil's poor boy is a mess of self-hatred and humiliation, and Phil does the best he can to take care of him. They both have all the time off they need, as promised to Phil by a deeply remorseful Nick, and while Clint chafes under not being able to work himself into the ground as a way to hide from his problems, Phil can tell that he's improving.

The team is already touchingly devoted, and Steve signs Phil's cards and sends him into a ridiculous fanboy swoon that makes Clint laugh for the first time in far too long. They're sitting at Phil's kitchen table to examine the inscriptions, and at last, during a pause, Clint speaks.

"...Daddy?" It's the first time he has called Phil that since his return, or at least the first time they hasn't had to choke its way past tears.

"Yes, baby boy?" Phil asks softly.

"Can we go downstairs?" His voice is already going soft and high, and Phil shivers, feeling like his heart will break with love.

"Of course, sweetheart," he says, and gets up, putting his cards away and ushering Clint down the stairs, murmuring praise and reassurance. Clint lets him lead, and stands there quietly, lifting his feet and moving his arms as needed while Phil dresses him in the bunny pajamas. Once he's all cuddled up in white fluff, Phil tucks the lamb into his arms and gives him a pacifier. A tension he hadn't even realized Clint was holding relaxes, and Phil smiles softly, kissing his cheek. "Come and sit with Daddy," he says, and takes Clint to the couch, settling him in his arms and rubbing his back. "It's so nice to see my good boy again," he murmurs softly, kissing Clint's forehead.

Clint pulls the pacifier out long enough to say, "I love you, Daddy," before putting it back in and cuddling close again. He's crying, but these tears and clean and quiet, with no shame. Phil shudders and kisses them off of his boy's face, murmuring over and over just how much he loves him. They spend a long time on the couch, and when they go up to bed Clint brings Flop with them, hugging him and the lamb tightly as he curls up in Phil's bed, whimpering happily when Phil cuddles up behind him and holds him tightly, murmuring into Clint's ear about what a sweet and precious baby boy he is.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Through the Vents (Into Your Bed)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5584891) by [RainGirl696](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainGirl696/pseuds/RainGirl696)
  * [From My Hands (Into Your Mouth)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706715) by [lola381pce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce), [RainGirl696](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainGirl696/pseuds/RainGirl696)
  * [Over Him (So Into You)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237646) by [lola381pce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce), [RainGirl696](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainGirl696/pseuds/RainGirl696)




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